


you're the trouble i'm in

by RavenWhitecastle



Series: The Sinner and the Saint [9]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Fantasizing, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-03 20:03:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14576601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenWhitecastle/pseuds/RavenWhitecastle
Summary: Simply put, John has a problem.Pretending is not enough.





	you're the trouble i'm in

**Author's Note:**

> John masturbates while thinking of Harold, enough said. Short and dirty. This is only the beginning, the start of the descent. ;)  
> Songspiration: "Trouble I'm In" by Twinbed  
> Lyrics:  
> I wanna feel your touch  
> It's burning me like an ember  
> Pretending is not enough  
> I wanna feel us together  
> So I'm giving in, so I'm giving in  
> To the trouble I'm in
> 
> You are, you are my favorite medicine  
> You are, you are, you're where the ledge began  
> You are, you are, "just one last time again"  
> You are, you are, you are the trouble I'm in  
> You are the trouble I'm in

John couldn’t stop thinking about Harold.

He was at home, or back in his apartment anyway, fruitlessly trying to sleep. But every time he closed his eyes, snapshots of Harold flashed before him. The touch of his hand, the furrow of his brow. The rhythm of his walk, the lilt of his voice, the slope of his back. The slant of his lips.

Sighing, John stared resolutely at the ceiling. If he wasn’t careful, he’d drive himself insane thinking about Harold’s lips. He shouldn’t think about the texture of Harold’s lips. He shouldn’t wonder what Harold’s lips tasted like. He shouldn’t imagine Harold’s lips doing all sort of ungodly things.

John shifted uncomfortably as his cock twitched under the sheets. Gritting his teeth, he tried to think of anything else. It wasn’t appropriate to think of Harold that way. Frankly, Harold would have been horrified. He would have flushed, clearing his throat and changing the subject or leaving the room entirely.

But if he wasn’t mortified… If he could see what John was thinking, and didn’t think it shameful. If he approached John and deftly started undoing his shirt…

Frustration mounting, John shoved his hand under the covers and ripped off his shorts, grabbing his cock and stroking it furiously. He was already so hard from picturing Harold watching him with lust, licking his lips and making them wet.

Biting his lip, John held back a groan as he pictured what Harold would do as he came undone. Did Harold make sinful noises as the pleasure mounted? Did he scream? Did he sigh? Did he let his composure slip and swear? John had rarely heard his partner curse- would Harold use profanity in the throes of ecstasy, or would he just sigh his lover’s name over and over?

John was so close, the pressure building in his groin. He changed position and reached for the headboard, back arching off the bed. He pictured Harold on top of him, wishing he knew how Harold would have him. Would Harold want to be on top? Did he grip the sheets until his knuckles turned white? Did he close his eyes? Did he bite his lip, or let loose cries of bliss?

The thought drove John over the edge. He came, harder than he had in months, and had to let go of the headboard to cover his mouth and reduce the moans to a quiet, desperate whimper.

As the shuddering subsided, John felt a pang of guilt. He respected Harold, as a boss and a partner, and he’d just jacked himself off thinking of Harold.

But he didn’t just want Harold to take him, as much as he wanted that. He also wanted Harold pressed up against him. He wanted Harold to card his fingers through John’s hair. He wanted to wake up to see Harold’s peaceful face, which John had never seen.

When had John stopped seeing Harold as a friend and started wanting so much more? Before he drifted off, John wondered where he’d wandered off the path. Had everything changed when Harold had saved John from himself in Alonzo Quinn’s safehouse? Had it been after the fire, when John had nearly lost Harold and it very nearly broke him? Or had it been sneaking up on him slowly all along?


End file.
